


didn't mean to do no harm (and he holds me tight)

by BisexualFeminist



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Police, Ambiguity, Angst, Conspiracy, Detective/Reporter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Minor Character Death, Moral Dilemmas, Murder Mystery, Post-Break Up, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualFeminist/pseuds/BisexualFeminist
Summary: Robbie Reyes could deal with a lot of shit. He could deal with crazy old ladies demanding to have their cats found. He could deal with teenagers giving him crap. He could even deal with the odd racist comment from rookie cops, provided he'd had plenty of coffee that morning, otherwise, a certain little shit named Officer Mitchell would get his ass verbally whipped.Yeah, Robbie Reyes could put up with a lot, but then there was her, and she drove him up the wall.QuakeRider Detective AU where both Robbie and Daisy get in way over their heads.Title comes from AURORA's "Murder Song (5 4 3 2 1)"





	1. Chapter 1

Robbie Reyes could deal with a lot of shit. He could deal with crazy old ladies demanding to have their cats found. He could deal with teenagers giving him crap. He could even deal with the odd racist comment from rookie cops, provided he'd had plenty of coffee that morning, otherwise, a certain little shit named Officer Mitchell would get his ass verbally whipped.

Yeah, Robbie Reyes could put up with a lot, but then there was _her,_ and she drove him up the wall.

* * *

 

He could see her as he got out of the cop car, a little ways away, being pulled out past the yellow tape. Gritting his teeth and preparing for yet another encounter, he shut the car door with a little more force than necessary, trudging through the mud towards her. There would have to come a time where he could go without seeing her for longer than two weeks.

"What have I told you about coming to these?" he said, coming up from behind as she tried to persuade an officer to let her back into the crime scene.

She turned with a sardonic grin on her face, recorder in hand.

"Detective Reyes," she greeted warmly, too warmly, all things considered. "How've you been?"

"I'm sorry, Detective, she was here with Smith and Nathanson when I showed up,"  the other officer tried to explain, but Robbie waves him away, irritated.

“Just make sure no one else makes it into the crime scene.”

The other cop slunk away, and Robbie turned his full, undivided attention on her.

“What do I have to do to make sure you stop interfering with my job?” he asked her.

“Let me do mine,” she replied.

“You don’t have a job. You’re a freelance journalist with a sensationalized blog.”

“Detective Reyes, you wound me,” she said, affronted. “Are you saying that journalism isn’t a real job? Can I quote you on that?”

_“No.”_

She shrugged. "Whatever. So, I have information that-"

"How the hell would you have information about this?" he demanded. "I haven't even talked to forensics yet."

She smirked. "What's the fun in telling you that?" she said.

Knowing her, she probably flirted her way into the crime scene, charmed the CSI on duty. It wouldn’t be the first time, he noted with irritation.

"I could have you charged with obstruction of justice," he replied. "Or you could be a suspect."

“Detective, you really think little old me could pull off a homicide of that brutality?”

“When I have to deal with you before I even reach the corpse, it’s a little difficult to even know the extent of your supposed brutality. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m checking your car for a police scanner.”

He headed for her van, an old black thing with more than one tire needing air. She followed him, protesting.

“You can’t search my van! I have rights!” she said, catching up to him and planting her small frame right in front of him. He tried to step around her, but she mirrored his movements.

“I’m about to arrest you for heckling an officer and obstructing justice. Get lost.”

“Don’t you have a crime scene to investigate, Detective? I mean, that’s a little more important than some annoying freelance journalist, right?” she said innocently, which really only confirmed his theory about the police scanner.

“When said annoying freelance journalist is interfering with my job, no,” he said, trying to move past her. She was quicker than him though, and moved with him.

“Johnson, I swear to God-”

“Johnson? Really? We’re _still_ doing that?” she scoffed. “Have a soul, _Reyes,_ and add a ‘Miss’ on the end if you won’t even call me by my name.” Her smile was gone now, as was her more cheerful manner, and he knew this grated on her, that he wouldn’t acknowledge her by name anymore.

He couldn’t help it. If he called her by her name, her first name, then it brought back too much: late night drives, warm sheets lit only by moonlight slipping through the blinds, and her hair sliding through his fingers like dark silk.

He hated remembering the night when he walked out of her apartment without looking back, no matter how many times she said his name.

He could tell by the way she looked at him that she remembered all that too.

He couldn’t even begin to explain everything. How could he ever?

It was easier for her to hate him for leaving than it was for hating him because of what he’d done.

He didn’t answer her this time, just turned his back on her like he’d done six months ago and trekked towards the yellow tape. The police scanner could wait. He had a body to deal with.

For once, she didn’t follow him.  

That stung a little more than he thought it would have.

* * *

 

“What do you have for me, Nathanson?” Robbie said as he came up behind the forensics scientist kneeling on the ground, examining the area around the body.

“Male, late thirties to early forties, been dead about sixteen hours...looks like he’s been garroted,” Nathanson answered. “Found a driver’s license naming him Erik Koenig.”

“You tell Johnson all that, too?”

Nathanson suddenly became very interested in fiddling with the sheet placed over the corpse, his ears turning pink. Robbie gritted his teeth, his hand finding the other man’s shoulder in a vice-like grip, leaning down so that only Nathanson could hear him hiss.

“Listen, Nathanson, I don’t care how many times she bats her eyelashes at you, you reveal information prematurely again and I’ll have you stuck in the backroom organizing the archives for the next decade. Am I clear?”

“I-yes sir.”

“Good.” Robbie stood up straight, ready to disregard the rookie crime scene analyst and focus on something more important.

“I didn’t tell her the name,” Nathanson offered weakly, more to himself than to Robbie. Robbie resisted the urge to smack him upside the head, and distracted himself by finding Detective Lisa Ortega, his partner, who was talking to another officer.

“You good, Reyes?” Lisa asked, seeing his scowl.

“Fine,” Robbie answered shortly.

“Doesn’t have anything to do with Smith removing Johnson from the crime scene after he caught her talking to Nathanson, does it?”

Robbie shot his partner a dark look.

“You ran into her, didn't you?”

“Do we have anything on the vic?” he said, changing the subject. Lisa rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Erik Koenig, one of those community types, ran a video game club at Lincoln High School. Seems like the kind of guy everyone likes,” she answered, arching an eyebrow at him that clearly meant _You can’t keep avoiding this._

“There’s no such thing as ‘the kind of guy everyone likes,’” Robbie replied, ignoring her hints.

“No shit, Sherlock. Now the hard part is finding the people who didn’t like him.”

“Where do you want to start?” he asked.

“You can go talk to forensics, and be nice, please,” Lisa said. “I have an eyewitness to talk to. If you want, you can talk to Smith for a walk-through.”

And so it began. The process of painstakingly examining and considering everything, being up late for nights on end, all for it to end in a trial or as a folder stuffed in a drawer, lost to the archives.

It made him wish he wasn’t in homicide, and it wasn’t the first time.

* * *

  _Sensationalized blog_. The nerve of him…!

He knew damn well that she was a legitimate reporter for the local news, she just happened to run _The Shield’s_ online presence as well.

It had been six months. Wasn’t this the point when everything was supposed to get a little less hostile? They didn’t need to be best friends, but Jesus fucking Christ, he didn’t need to be so fucking cold.

Six months. Wait, was that seriously how long it had been? That was it? It felt like a century since they’d ended things.

No. She hadn’t ended anything. That was all him.

She still didn’t have a goddamn reason either. She’d been over it time and time again, wondering how they’d gone from ‘I love you’ to Robbie slamming the door behind him one night and never coming back with so little warning and even less explanation. It was exhausting, trying to figure how what happened, poring over every last action, searching for what she’d done, forming theories that barely began to make sense.

She still wondered sometimes if he and Detective Ortega had started a relationship that extended beyond professional. It was her least favorite explanation, and she’d come up with a lot of pretty bad ones.

But that wasn’t fair to Lisa. Lisa was a good cop, a better friend, and had even tried to talk Robbie round for her once or twice. Daisy couldn’t start thinking negatively of her friends just because she was upset, and besides, neither Lisa nor Robbie were the type to pull shit like that.

 _Enough of that, Johnson_ , she thought as she fiddled with the police scanner she’d nicked from Robbie ages ago, _You’ve got a story to follow. Let’s focus on that instead._


	2. Chapter 2

“Dr. Simmons,” Robbie greeted, a bit carefully as he walked into the morgue. Dr. Jemma Simmons was a generally kind person but lethal with a scalpel and he was pretty sure she’d been wanting to use it on him ever since he broke up with Daisy.

 

“Hello, Detective,” she replied briskly. “Are you ready for the report?” 

 

“You finished already?”

 

She turned away from the corpse, a scalpel held blade-up in her hand. “Would that be an issue?” she asked. 

 

“Not at all,” he said, taking a minuscule step back. “Fire away.”

 

“Nathanson’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong about this man being garroted,” Simmons said. “The angle suggests that his attacker was at least six feet tall, and strong enough to, well, lift him off his feet.” Her expression was grim as she said, “I’d definitely say that we’re most likely going to be looking for a killer who’s male, early twenties to late forties, with some sort of training. This is a disturbingly clean job. Whoever did this, they’ve done it before.”

 

“Any fingerprints or anything?” 

 

“No fingerprints that I’ve found, though I will go back a few times to make sure. If the killer was experienced, most likely he was wearing gloves. However, I did find-”

 

“Reyes?” Both Simmons and Robbie turned to see Lisa Ortega.

 

“Need something?” Robbie asked.

 

“Captain Blaze wants to see you,” Lisa said, a bit uneasily. Robbie gave her a reassuring nod, and turned back to Simmons, apologizing hastily before brushing past her and Lisa, who moved down the hall to follow him, rather than stay to listen to Simmons’ report.

 

Blaze’s office is surrounded by desks crowded with papers and officers, hectic and brimming with an anxiety that Robbie is never sure if he’s only making up.

 

There’s a particular desk there, to the right of the door, and it’s belonged to three different officers but it’s never moved an inch. He met Daisy in front of that desk, funnily enough.

 

_ “Robbie, this is Daisy Johnson, she’s an old friend and a reporter for  _ The Shield _ , you know, that crazy local paper-” _

 

_ “For your information, Lisa, we are a perfectly sane newspaper with the required amount of journalistic integrity-!” _

 

Robbie hovered in the doorway, seeing Captain Johnathan Blaze as his desk. Blaze was in his late fifties, but no one could ever have guessed from the broadness of his shoulders and the mild salt-and-pepper in his hair. 

 

“Captain,” Robbie said with the same level tone he’s been trying to maintain around the older man for a little over six months now.

 

“Detective,” Blaze greeted him, his tone tinged with weariness. 

 

“You wanted to see me?” Robbie said, wanting to get it over with.

 

“I did,” Blaze answered, not moving from where he sits. “Ortega told me the Johnson girl was hanging around the Koenig crime scene.”

 

“That’s correct, sir.”

 

Blaze sighed. “Reyes, I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, so I’ll be blunt: She’s getting out of hand. You told me you were going to handle it.”

 

“I am,” Robbie said testily. “It’s...it’s taking a little time.”

 

“It’s taking too much time,” Blaze said. “Not only is she interfering with the LAPD’s job, she’s endangering herself.”

 

“I know, sir.” 

 

“She already knew too much when you ended things. I don’t like getting involved in my officers’ private lives, but when it interferes with their jobs, I have to step in. You brought her into this, Reyes. You’re the one who has to get her out.”

 

“I’ m aware, sir,” Robbie replied, bristling at Blaze’s words.  

“Good, because soon, she’s going to get involved in ways that we can’t have, and I can’t promise that the arresting officers will treat her with the same kids’ gloves that you’ve been ‘handling’ her with.” Blaze turned back to his desk work. “You’re dismissed, Detective.” 

Robbie gritted his teeth as he turned and headed for the door, shutting it behind him with a little more force than necessary. Lisa stood in the hallway, her expression shadowed with concern. She joined him in storming down the hallway when he walked past her. 

“Why the hell did you have to tell him?” Robbie hissed under his breath. 

“Look, Robbie, I care about Daisy, too, but she’s going to get herself more in over her head than she already is. We need to keep her in control.”

“What do you want me to do?” he snapped. “I can’t tell her the truth, it’s the whole reason I-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. 

“I know, Robbie,” Lisa said gently. “It hurts keeping things from her, but it’s the only option we have right now.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” he said. “Lock her in a holding cell every time we see her? If you’ve got suggestions, Lisa, you know I’m more than happy to test them.”

“I’m going to try and talk to her again,” Lisa began, and Robbie snorted.

“Let me know how that goes,” he said sarcastically. 

“Maybe it’ll be different this time,” she replied defensively. 

Robbie stopped his pace and turned to look at his partner, hands shoved in her pockets, dark red hair braided down her back. 

“You really think that?” he said, a little incredulous, a little endeared by her optimism. For a cop, she sure had a lot of it. 

“Daisy listens, just not when she thinks she’s being lied to.” 

“Which she is.”

“And for good reason. How about this: I give her just a little bit of information and say we’re at a dead end? It might keep her from following us around.” 

“It’s a reach, Ortega.” 

“Worth a shot,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Robbie said, not totally convinced. “Go for it.” 

“Where are you going?” she said as he turned on his heel to walk away.

“Maybe I need a smoke,” he said tonelessly. He knew Lisa was well aware he hadn’t smoked since he’d almost puked trying a cigarette at a high school party years ago. 

Lisa didn’t push it, she just let him go as he walked down the gridded tile of the precinct, thinking about his mistakes.

* * *

 

“Do you ever stop working, Johnson?” 

Daisy glanced up from her computer to see Grant Ward leaning over the edge of her cubicle.

“Sleep is for the dead, Ward,” she replied coolly, continuing to type the notes Simmons had given her a couple days ago on the autopsy.

“You look pretty good for a dead person.”

“What do you want, Ward?” 

“Someone’s here to see you.” 

Daisy sighed, pushing back her chair, reluctant to stop working. “Who?” 

“Oh, just Detective Ortega, in full uniform.” 

_ Shit _ . “Thanks for the heads up.” Daisy plastered a smile on her face, weaving through the hectic office of  _ The Shield _ , felt it falter when she saw Lisa Ortega, holding two coffee cups.

“Detective,” she greeted, the word feeling heavy on her tongue. 

“Hey, Daisy.” Lisa extended a to-go cup towards her. “Mocha?” 

Daisy took the cup, not wanting to seem hostile. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Can we talk?” Lisa requested, and Daisy knew she wasn’t in a position to say no.

They stepped outside of the building into L.A. sun, drying up rain puddles and creating an invisible steam in the air. 

“If this is about earlier-”

“Only sort of,” Lisa admitted, tucking a stray piece of red hair behind her ear, and Daisy remembers why she had a crush on Lisa in college. 

“Did Robbie send you?” Daisy said, hating the small bud of hope that bloomed in her chest. 

“No.” The hope shriveled and crumbled to dust. 

“But,” Lisa continued, “He is concerned. We both are.”

Daisy scoffed. “What for?” 

“Captain Blaze isn’t appreciating the stuff he’s hearing about you coming to crime scenes, Daisy. He’ll have you arrested soon if you don’t stop.”

“What is this, a threat?” Daisy demanded.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just giving you a heads up. We-I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

‘We.’ Meaning Robbie and Lisa? 

“Besides, the Koenig case is bound to be a dead end,” Lisa went on. “It’d really suck if you got arrested for a murder case that never panned out in the first place.” 

“What do you mean?” Daisy asked. 

“We don’t have much on it, to begin with, there are no suspects, and the autopsy points the finger at every six-foot-tall person living in the area with no fingerprints or identifying evidence. It’s probably just going to be another unsolved case for the archives.”

“That’s depressing,” Daisy said, thinking about everything Jemma had told her, how the LAPD had actually gone around and gathered maybe three suspects, the blood of an unidentified person under Koenig’s nails. And now Lisa was blatantly lying to her, just like Robbie.   

“That a good person and his family is never going to get justice? Yeah, it is,” Lisa agreed. “Nothing can be done other than trying our best, but it’s not something you need to get involved in.” 

“So what am I supposed to do then?” 

“Your job. Live. Write your stories. Just...please do so within legal means.” Lisa checked her watch. “I gotta get back to the precinct, but stay safe, alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the coffee.” Daisy watched Lisa turn and head for her car, taking a sip of the mocha.

She walked back inside The Shield, dumping the coffee cup into the trash on her way back to her desk.

It tasted like acid now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos, please!
> 
> I made a Spotify playlist for this fic as well! Check me out @caleopercebeth#1, the playlist is called 'didn't mean to do no harm,' may or may not be in a folder titled "Fic Playlists"
> 
> And in case that's not your thing, I have a QuakeRider playlist in the folder "Ships!"


End file.
